A Perfect Shame
by singsongsung
Summary: Companion piece to Forever; Nate and Serena on and after the day of the Nate and Blair's wedding.


**A/N:** This is a companion piece to **Forever**, which I wrote a while ago, but I don't think it's necessary to read one in order to understand the other. Thanks go out to my beta reader 'cause she rocks. Feedback is _always_ appreciated; enjoy!

**A Perfect Shame**

"B!" The single syllable, the exclamation of a single letter, brings great big, childishly happy smiles to Nate and Blair's faces.

"S!" Blair cries, running out of the villa to see her best friend.

Serena is gorgeous, and what else is new? Her blonde hair glows in the sun like a halo, and Nate remembers thinking the exact same thing in his first memory of three-year-old Serena. Hair in the sun, like a halo. Her smile is that real, full of honesty, that down-to-earth joy, because despite the unfixable crack in her assaulted heart, she's truly happy for her best friends. "Blair!" she yelps, unsophisticated and yet beautiful. She dashes for the door, throwing her long, lanky arms around her petite friend. "Buh-lair! You're glowing already? Is that even possible?" Without waiting for an answer, she cries, "Nate!" and throws herself into another exuberant hug. Nate returns it fully, giving her a great big bear hug and kissing her angelic hair.

"It's good to see you," he says, trying not to be mournful.

"And it's _great _to see you lovebirds! Blair, oh my God, you are going to be so stunning. Do you even realize how stunning you're going to be?"

Blair beams at Serena's praise, something she has always done, and always will do, in spite of herself. "Yeah?" she asks shyly.

"Don't even pull that blushing bride routine on me, B. You're a goddess." She spots Blair's mother and grins. "Eleanor!" she calls. "Tell your daughter she's a goddess."

Eleanor, overjoyed that this perfect match is finally being made, simply laughs as says, "Same as ever, aren't you, Serena, darling?"

Serena shrugs. "When have I ever changed? Come on, tell her."

Eleanor smiles serenely at her sometimes adored, sometimes forgotten child. "You're a goddess, Blair. You look beautiful already."

Nate feels the happiness coming off of Blair in waves. All of this perfect praise is something she isn't used to, but is so, so glad to finally get. "Thanks," she says, as unaffected as she can possibly be.

Nate's whole body aches from its battle with his emotions. Part of him is thrilled. He is getting married. He's just had the biggest bachelor party possible, and tomorrow, he'll watch a beautiful brunette walk down the aisle toward him, grinning like crazy. Part of him is scared—marriage? What, _what_ was he thinking when he'd put that ring on Blair's finger? And Serena, standing there, is like a life raft. They could take off, just the two of them in a red convertible, cruise into the sunset, and never look back. He can see Serena throwing her head back as she laughs, punching his arm playfully as he drives, and kissing him at every single red light or stop sign they encounter. He can run away from this, from his ditzy, self-absorbed mother-in-law, his irritating, boisterous, ugly stepfather-in-law, his own strict, tradition-complying parents, and his perfectionist to-be bride.

But at the same time he can't. He can't help but think of what a crappy time it is to start being all moral.

Serena waves a hand in front of his face. Her fingernails are painted turquoise, but it's chipping off. It seems impulsive to him, and he clings to the thought of those bright blue fingernails through the rest of the brutal evening, such an intense contrast to the delicate, manicured fingernails of the woman who will be his bride in T minus 18 hours. "Natie! What are you, daydreaming?"

She speaks at the same time as Blair, who says, sweetly but impatiently, "Baby, what are you doing…_daydreaming_?"

Their last word blends together harmoniously; as best friends since birth, their voices can mix fairly well. But their tones are so very differently. Serena says it teasingly, almost jealously, as though she wants to get caught up in that dream too, but knows that she never can. Blair's pronunciation is sarcastic and sceptical; critical, even. What a silly thing to be doing.

Blair frowns at Serena. Nate is her fiancé, her almost-husband, her _property_ in a sense and she has long since passed a time at which she is willing to share him with Serena.

Serena steers the conversation away from all things that could dredge of the ugly past, hooking her arm through Blair's and smiling sweetly. "Come _on_, B., I wanna see your dress!"

She perks up instantly at the thought of her gorgeous gown. On natural instinct, both girls turn to Nate before they leave – Serena drops one eyelid in a wink and Blair blows him a demure kiss. He's extremely thankful that neither notices the other's actions. His soon-to-be mother-in-law hurries off behind them, reminding Blair to be _very careful_ if she insists on trying it on.

She can't have had the time, though, because moments later the caterers are there and their parents are squawking on about six different kinds of fish and whether soup should be served hot or slightly-cooled.

The moment someone suggests octopus as the main course, Blair gasps, shuddering, and Nate decides that it's high time to get stoned.

Because of his impulsive – and probably wise – decision, the next eighteen hours are nothing more than a blur. Chuck appears out of _nowhere_ at some point, his father attempts to give him a _serious talk_, Blair refuses to let him see her on the _day of_, and his mother fixes his tie no less than _twelve_ times.

He stands at the front of the small, quaint church that still somehow manages to scream of Old Money, and waits, trying to figure out if he even knows any of the people sitting in front of him. Chuck, standing just behind him to his right, mutters something, but Nate doesn't bother to find out what it is.

The string quartet, the women in lavender dresses and the men with matching ties, begin to play. A couple of little girls – apparently his cousins – skip down the aisle, scattering pristine white petals. And then the women start walking in.

Blair chose deep, dark purple for her bridesmaids. Imperial, majestic purple, the symbol of wealth and royalty and status. In parapsychology it symbolizes a love of ritual and ceremony, of perfection. It means pride. It says, _epic_. All of which are words and terms and ideas which point to Blair Cornelia Waldorf and her many minions, who march down the aisle with elegant steps and perfect smiles.

In some cultures, purple indicates the forbidden, and that's what Nate sees when his bride's maid of honour walks in.

She doesn't look at him, she stares straight ahead, and he wracks his brain trying to figure out if this means something. Purple looks _good_ on her; it makes her eyes shine like amethysts even though they're technically a deep blue.

A low murmur of approval and admiration goes through the church, the kind that's supposed to be meant for the bride. Serena's used to that sort of thing, doesn't blush, smiles sweetly, but her lips are pressed together so tightly that they're turning white. She clutches her bouquet of white roses a little too forcefully.

She stands across from Chuck and Nate resists the temptation to turn and look at her.

The string quartet gets a little louder, just enough to give him the smallest headache, gnawing at his sinuses. Everyone stands up and Blair walks in, beaming and in brilliant white from head to toe, her veil attached to a tiara, which sits atop her head like it belongs there. She's made for stuff like that.

Everyone watches her, watery smiles on their lips, dabbing at their eyes with monogrammed handkerchiefs as she glides down the aisle, a perfect smile on her painted lips. She waits while her father kisses her cheek, shoves her large bouquet into Serena's hands, and then grasps both of Nate's hands in a death grip.

They say traditional vows, exchange rings, recite _I do_. She cries, he smiles solemnly, and their kiss is chaste and gentle and promising. Everyone applauds as Blair skips back down the aisle, dragging him after her.

It's all beautiful and Blair's beautiful and she's beaming. He only makes eye contact with Serena once, just before Blair whisks him out of the church. Her face looks frozen and there is a jewel-like tear trailing slowly down her cheek. She looks right into his eyes for a moment, a broken, agonizing moment in which he can practically feel somebody's heart breaking.

But then Blair reaches back for his hand, smiling widely, and Serena grins right back and raises her eyebrows like _Oh my god, you're married, this is so great!_

Through the elaborate reception, through dinner and toasts and his first dance with the new Mrs. Archibald, Nate can't shake the feeling that he missed something.

He looks for Serena as if she can answer the question, but she's nowhere near him. She kisses him cheek for a millisecond too long after she makes her toast, squeals with Blair, grins that winning grin at all the guests, dances with Chuck like she obliged to, and makes a quick exit.

He doesn't want to know why, but he thinks he does.

He gives Blair her perfect wedding night; luxurious bed and champagne and sweet kisses and sex. And when she's curled up in his arms, perfectly content, he _still_ feels like he's missed a step somewhere.

They're on their honeymoon in Europe two weeks later when he gets the picture. Blair's in the shower and he's checking his e-mail. There's a message from Serena and it instantly makes him curious.

She hasn't written anything, which can only mean that she's sent him one of those pictures. Still neutrally curious, looking forward to seeing her face again.

It's a picture of her, as always…in _Blair's_ wedding dress. She must have snuck in and tried it on when the caterers were going on and on about seafood and the pros and cons of eight tentacles.

She's beautiful. The dress, which overpowered and overwhelmed Blair, makes her look stunning. She's joking around, obviously having used the self-timer on her camera, a prim, practiced look on her face. Posing, modelling, just being her usually silly self.

Her eyes, in contrast with the white, are deep, dark, delicious blue. He reaches out and touches his computer screen, no matter how stupid he knows it is. She looks like she's…lost somewhere, dreaming of something.

He feels it in the moment, hitting him full force, what he missed at his own wedding. The _wow_ moment, the moment of realization, the moment of magic, that cheesy stupidity of being struck speechless by how totally and completely amazing the woman he loves looks.

He clicks on _reply_, types,

_I love you. I miss you. I wish we'd run away that day, just the two of us in a red convertible, and you could kiss me at every stop light. I wish that dress was yours. I wish a lot of things, Serena._

_I'm glad it was you. It's still you. It'll always be you._

The water stops running in the bathroom and he panics, slams the laptop shut, gets up and pours Blair a cup of coffee.

The e-mail never gets sent.


End file.
